It was very quiet in Bag End while they all waited for Thorin Oakenshield to finish eating. With food in his belly and ale in his tankard, his mood seemed slightly improved. Bilbo made a move to collect the empty plates. Only Hannah got up to help him.

"I suppose you will all stay to supper?" asked Bilbo upon noting that it was nearly time for the next meal, and none of them seemed to be in any hurry to leave. He hoped there was still enough food for another meal left in the pantry.

"Of course!" said Thorin. "And after. We shan't get through the business till late. By the way, Gandalf, who is that girl? Why is there a child here?"

"That young lady, Miss Hannah Hayes, is my apprentice," said the wizard, finally introducing his young companion, who turned and bowed her head politely to the Dwarf.

"I did not think wizards like you took apprentices," said Thorin dubiously.

"Indeed we do not, normally. And that right there should tell that there is more to her than meets the eye," answered Gandalf.

"Indeed," said Thorin, though he did not appear convinced.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" asked Balin. "Did they all come?"

"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," said Thorin. At this the Dwarves let out a cheer.

"And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" asked Dwalin. "Is Dáin with us?"

"They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone," Thorin answered solemnly. Their good spirits fell upon hearing that.

"You're going on a quest?" asked Bilbo, alerting the others to his presence. They hadn't even realized he had returned.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light," said Gandalf. While Bilbo fetched another candle, the wizard withdrew an old map from his robes and placed it in front of Thorin. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers... beyond woodlands and wastelands... lies a single, solitary peak."

"The Lonely Mountain," Bilbo read aloud as he returned with the candle, peering over Thorin's shoulder.

"Aye, Óin has read the portents. And the portents say it is time," said Glóin.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold: When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end," said Óin.

"Uh, what beast?" asked Bilbo.

"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," answered Bofur. "Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals."

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," said Bilbo.

"I'm not afraid. I'm up for it," Ori said, shooting out of his chair. "I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"

"Good lad, Ori!" said Nori.

"Sit down," said Dori, pulling the young Dwarf back into his seat.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us; but we number just thirteen," said Balin. "And not thirteen of the best. Nor brightest."

"Here, who you calling dim?" Ori asked while the other Dwarves muttered amongst themselves.

"Sorry, what did he say?" asked Óin.

"We may be few in number; but we're fighters, all of us, to the last Dwarf," Fili said boldly.

"And you forget, we have a wizard and his apprentice in our company," added Kili. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

"Oh, well, no. I wouldn't say—" the wizard started as the eyes of Thorin and every Dwarf at the table flicked to him and Hannah.

"How many then?" asked Dori.

"What?" said Gandalf.

"Well, how many dragons have you killed?" Dori asked. Thorin stared pointedly at the wizard. Gandalf coughed as if choking on the smoke from his pipe. Hannah had a feeling the answer was none. "Go on. Give us a number," Dori pressured him as the Dwarves began to kick up a fuss.

"Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything," said Hannah. Gandalf shot her a look to let her know he did not find that at all helpful.

Suddenly Thorin stood up and shouted something in the Dwarfish language. The room fell completely silent. "If we have read these signs do you not think others will have read them as well?" he asked. "Rumors have begun to spread. The Dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?" he finished strongly, instilling a sense of pride in the other Dwarves that inspired them anew, and they let out a great cheer.

"You forget, the Front Gate is sealed," said Balin grimly. "There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," said Gandalf, producing a key of Dwarfish make that he had kept hidden until that moment.

"How came you by this?" asked Thorin.

"It was given to me by your father, Thráin. For safe-keeping," answered Gandalf as he handed it over. "It is yours now." Thorin gazed at the key in his hand with wonder.

"If there is a key... then there must be a door," said Fili.

Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, thought Hannah, while Gandalf nodded in confirmation, pointing to an inscription on the map.

"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls," the wizard said.

"There's another way in," said Kili with a smile.

"Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," said Gandalf with a sigh. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage." At this he cast a glance at Bilbo. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," said Ori.

"Hmm. And a good one too," said Bilbo. "An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" asked Glóin as the Dwarves turned their eyes on him. Bilbo looked up and glanced around.

"Am I what?" he asked, not taking their meaning.

"He said he's an expert. Hey!" said Óin with a laugh and a grin.

"Me?" Bilbo asked surprised. "No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," said Balin. "He's hardly burglar material."

"Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," agreed Dwalin.

"You might as well send the lass in!" said Glóin. The other Dwarves quickly joined in grumbling about Gandalf's choice in quality of burglar. Hannah was the first to take notice of her mentor's ire at this, but the others were not far behind; he scowled so angrily that many of the Dwarves shrank back in their chairs as the room trembled, and the wizard and his shadow seemed to grow larger and taller.

"Enough!" Gandalf boomed. "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is, or will be when the time comes," he finished a little more calmly, and his shadow receded. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the Dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf and Men the scent of Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this," he said, looking directly at Thorin. "You may (possibly) all live to thank me yet."

"Very well. We will do it your way," said Thorin. He supposed the hobbit was better than nothing.

"No, no," said Bilbo nervously. Although he had been touched by Gandalf's speech in his defense, the Baggins side of him was still hesitant to be dragged into an adventure.

"Give him the contract," said Thorin.

"We're in. We're off," said Bofur as Balin produced a thickly folded and rather official-looking piece of parchment.

"It's just the usual," Balin said as he handed it to the hobbit. "Summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" asked Bilbo, almost squeaking. He definitely did not like the sound of that. Nevertheless, the Tookish part of him couldn't help but take a look. Bilbo sighed as he let the long document unfold to read.

"I cannot guarantee his safety," Thorin said quietly to Gandalf.

"Understood," said Gandalf.

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate."

"Agreed," said the wizard with a small nod, though he hoped it would not come to that.

"Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, if any." Bilbo read aloud. "Hmm. Seems fair. Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to lacerations—" At this both Hannah and Gandalf looked up with concern. "—evisceration... incineration?" asked Bilbo, glancing back at the Dwarves.

"Oh, aye. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," said Bofur. Bilbo paled slightly and let out an almost in audible whimper. Hannah couldn't say she blamed him. Burning to death was not a pleasant way to go.

"Are you all right, laddie?" asked Balin.

"Huh? Yeah," Bilbo said, putting his hands on his knees to steady himself as he leaned over and breathed. "Feel a bit faint."

"Think furnace with wings," Bofur continued.

"Air. I need air," said Bilbo.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof. You're nothing more than a pile of ash," said Bofur.

"Hmm," Bilbo said. His spine stiffened, and for a moment he appeared to have pulled himself together. "Nope," the hobbit said and promptly fainted.

"Brilliant," said Hannah drolly.

"Very helpful, Bofur," said Gandalf with a frown.

"I'll be all right. Just let me sit quietly for a moment," Bilbo said once he had regained consciousness, cradling the cup of chamomile tea Hannah had made for him while he sat in his comfy chair by the fire.

"You've been sitting quietly for far too long," said Gandalf. "Tell me, when did doilies and your mother's dishes become so important to you? I remember a young Hobbit who was always running off in search of Elves in the woods. Who would stay out late, come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. A young Hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of a the Shire. The world is not in your books and maps. It's out there."

"I can't just go running off into the blue," said Bilbo. "I am a Baggins of Bag End."

"You are also a Took," said Gandalf. "Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took was so large he could ride a real horse?"

"Yes," Bilbo said quietly.

"Yes, well, he could," the Wizard stated firmly. "In the Battle of Green Fields he charged the Goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard it knocked the Goblin king's head clean off, and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole. And thus, the battle was won; and the game of golf invented at the same time." Hannah raised an eyebrow at that colorful anecdote, as did Bilbo.

"I do believe you made that up," said the Hobbit with a small smile.

"Well, all good stories deserve embellishment," replied Gandalf. "You'll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back."

"Can you promise that I will come home," asked Bilbo.

"No," Gandalf answered honestly. "And if you do, you will not be the same."

"That's what I thought," said Bilbo. "Sorry, Gandalf, I can't sign this. You've got the wrong hobbit." And with that, Bilbo stood up and walked away, leaving the contract sitting on the pouf in front of his chair.

"We appear to have lost our burglar," Balin remarked to Thorin. "Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers—Hardly the stuff of legends."

"There are a few warriors amongst us," said Thorin, looking directly at the white-bearded Dwarf in front of him.

"Old warriors," Balin reminded him. He was no spring-chicken anymore.

"I would take each and every one of the Dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills," said Thorin. "For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart; I can ask for no more than that."

"You don't have to do this," Balin said. "You have a choice. You have done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth all the gold in Erebor."

"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me," said Thorin, holding up the key. "They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."

Balin nodded his head. "Then we are with you, laddie," he said. "We will see it done."

The Dwarves and Gandalf moved into the parlor to have a smoke by the fire. Hannah remained at the well-lit table to read and perhaps write in her journal. And suddenly first one and then another voice could be heard, deep-throated singing of the Dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes. Curious, Hannah got up and moved closer to listen, and found herself joined by Bilbo. The dark came into the room from the little window that opened in the side of The Hill; the firelight flickered—it was April—and still the song went on, while the shadow of Gandalf's beard wagged against the wall.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep, and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord,

There many a gleaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung

The flowering stars, on crowns they hung

The dragon-fire, in twisted wire

They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves

And harps of gold; where no man delves

There lay they long, and many a song

Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red, it flaming spread;

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale

And men looked up with faces pale;

Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire

Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;

The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.

They fled their hall to dying fall

Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!

As they sang Bilbo and Hannah felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through them, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of Dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside the hobbit, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pines and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking stick. He looked out the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the Dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up—probably somebody lighting a wood-fire—and he thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. He shuddered; and very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag End, Under-Hill, again.

"I wonder how they can be so determined to venture into such danger," he said aloud when he was sitting at the table again with Hannah a little later on.

"It's their home," she answered, as if that were all the explanation needed. Bilbo then noticed she was writing in her journal using a strange language he had never seen before. It was neither Elvish nor old runes.

"What language is that?" he asked curiously.

"This is the language of my forefathers, passed down on my father's side," she answered with a small smile. She had decided to use the Hebrew that her Zayde had taught her to keep her thoughts safe from prying eyes. Although she and her brother had been baptized Catholic like their mother, they were still half Jewish through their father, and Zayde had insisted on teaching the old ways to his grandchildren and passed much of their culture on to them. "Actually, their history is quite similar to the Dwarves'," she said. "They also lost their ancestral homeland and became refugees in foreign lands, who have struggled to maintain their cultural identity while settling into their new homelands, and have had to endure much prejudice." Though this was true for both sides of her family (since her mother's family had to come to England during the Irish Diaspora), it was the Jews who appeared to have the most in common with Dwarves. Medieval views of Jews also saw them as having a propensity for making well-crafted and beautiful things, a trait shared with the Dwarves. Her Zayde was such an exceptionally skilled watchmaker that his work had been considered art and was highly sought after. Hannah was very proud of him. Also, like her father's family, who made frequent use of Yiddish in the comfort of their own homes, the Dwarves used their own language only amongst themselves and adopted the languages of those they lived amongst for the most part. The Dwarves' secret language, Khudzul, even sounded very much like a Semitic language and had a similar phonology to Hebrew, but despite the similar cadence of speech, the two languages were very different in meaning and form; and Hannah could not understand a word of it.

"Is that why you're going?" asked Bilbo. "Because they remind you of your family?"

"Partly. But there are other reasons as well," answered Hannah with a wan smile. "Well, I think we have all talked long enough for one night. We should get to bed too. We have an early start tomorrow. I hope there's enough food left for everyone to have a good breakfast before we go." Bilbo was about to contest the we part of her last sentence, when Thorin spoke, alerting them to his presence. They wondered how long he had been standing there and how much he had heard.

"Agreed," said Thorin. "I like eggs with my ham, when starting on a journey: fried not poached, and mind you don't break them."